The ride of the the Rohirrim and the Knights of Dol Amroth from Osgilliath to the crossing of the Harnen - one hundred and thirty leagues in four days - would be long sung in the White City. As would the stand of the five hundred against a Haradic force seven times their size for nearly six days until the main body of the army joined them. And the diversionary attack, led by Elfwine and Elfstan, that finally panicked the enemy into flight.
Gondor had seen few such victories in living memory and the White City went mad with joy. The two captains of Rohan were the heroes of the hour and to Ecthelion's perceptive eye the diffidence with which they bore their honors owed less to a becoming modesty than genuine dismay, even apprehension, at having called so much attention to themselves, a reaction the Steward found interesting.
He had noted the mysterious captains' habitual self effacement which contrasted oddly with the decisive confidence they showed when they did choose to assert themselves, as at the War Council.
Adrahil reported, rather ruefully, the ease with which Elfwine had taken command of the expedition. "He was never disrespectful or even discourteous but he most certainly did presume!" the Prince smiled wryly. "Yet it did not seem like presumption at the time. Indeed following his advice - or rather obeying his orders! - seemed like the most natural thing in the world. It is only now, looking back, that I begin to wonder."
Ecthelion wondered too. Adrahil was a man of the pure Numenorean blood, save for that Elvish strain, strong of will, difficult to influence and impossible to dominate - or so he would have said. "And you felt no desire to resist?"
The Prince shook his head. "No." slowly. "It was almost as if in my heart I knew he had the right to command me."
"Perhaps he does." Ecthelion said thoughtfully.
--
"It is not mere jealousy!" Denethor declared, pacing restlessly, then flashed a brief wry smile at his confidant, "though I admit I am jealous! Yet it is not just that. My heart forebodes these two Men will bring some great disaster upon Gondor."
"I feel that too." Finduilas said unexpectedly and he halted in his tracks to stare at her. She sat on the curved bench fitted into the embrasure at the tip of the great rock pier overlooking the City, kicking her feet, which didn't quite reach the ground, brow creased in intense thought. "I don't think they're bad in themselves," she continued, "but something hangs over them - some terrible fate that they might bring down on Gondor without any intention of doing harm."
"I hadn't thought of that." Denethor said slowly and sat down next to the girl. "They may indeed be as innocent as my father believes - yet still a danger to us, though he seems not to see it."
"Nor does my father, I asked him." Finduilas looked up at him, squinting against the sun. "Maybe because whatever is going to happen won't happen in their time - but in ours."
"The warning is to us, because it is we who must deal with it." Denethor mused. "That is possible." he looked down at his companion with sudden compunction. "I should not be troubling you with such things."
"My mother says women must concern themselves with these things, especially noblewomen." Finduilas answered firmly. "How else can we support our husbands and sons with good counsel?"
"The Lady Lindorie is very wise." Denethor agreed solemnly. "But it seems less than courteous on your birthday."
"I had forebodings as well." she reminded him. "It makes me feel better to know I'm not the only one."
"Me too." Denethor admitted and smiled. "And I thank you, my Lady, for the support of your good counsel."
"You are very welcome." she answered.
--
The victory had not come without cost and among the fallen was Beren, husband of Ecthelion's eldest daughter, who was to be laid to rest among the other nobles of Gondor in a tomb on the Rath Dinen. Aragorn and Barahir were surprised to receive a hand written note from the Steward requesting their presence at the ceremony.
"It is not that I begrudge the time," Aragorn told his brother, "but to the best of my knowledge I never so much as exchanged a word with the Man, did you?"
Barahir shook his head and shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps as the heroes of the hour our presence is thought to confer honor upon the fallen." he suggested.
"That could be it I suppose." Aragorn said doubtfully. He gave the note a last look before folding it away. "Yet somehow I feel Ecthelion has some very different purpose in mind."